


what's in a name?

by thepensword



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Kinda ish, Trans Male Character, general spoilers and warnings for caleb's backstory, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepensword/pseuds/thepensword
Summary: Caleb, and why he never uses a false name.





	what's in a name?

**Author's Note:**

> this started out with me going "haha caleb always insists on sharing his full entire real name with everyone he meets isn't that so funny" and then i was like OK WAIT C H A R A C T E R S T U D Y
> 
>  
> 
> also i am for sure procrastinating

They are liars.

They are liars, each and every one of them—unforgivably and completely shameless in it. They smile wide and spin falsehoods from their tongues, and they leave behind fragments of stories that never match up. The Mighty Nein— _I heard they’re all giants. They’re all elves. They have a halfling who can steal anything. They have a paladin who can shatter diamonds with her fist._

They are creatures of trickery and they are criminals and they are liars. Their lives are full of lie after lie after lie, and Caleb's more than most. Caleb is a liar.

But then again—

“My name is Caleb Widogast.”

There is one thing he can never bring himself to lie about. What is in a name but a history? What is in a name but an identity?

There are sins written into the familiar letters. An alphabet rearranged and selected from, consonants to shape a person. To erase the brush strokes is to deny his crimes and that would perhaps be the greatest crime of all. Caleb’s name is his atonement, his punishment, his burden to carry, his shackles dragging him down into the murk—

A name is a tether. Your name is how they find you. _Caleb, why don’t you lie?_

His name, his name, his name—

 

* * *

 

 

He is eight years old.

It is exactly 5:38 in the evening—not too late, yet— but it is far into the winter and the sun has long set. He sits by the fire, wrapped up in a blanket that his mother knitted and tucked in between his father’s knees, taking comfort in the feeling of strong fingers running soothing patterns through his long hair.

“Papa,” he says. “I think I would like to cut my hair.”

Papa’s fingers still for a moment before resuming their motions, carefully pulling the strands into a braid. “Why is that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It just….it seems right.”

“Alright,” says Papa. “You know what is best for you.”

They fall into silence. His mother brings three mugs of tea for them to drink, and they sit comfortably in the darkness of their home. And it should be peaceful, but it is not. He is nervous.

He thinks that he has no reason to be nervous, but he is.

But he must be brave.

He clears his throat. “Papa?” he says again. He sips his tea. “Mama?”

“Yes?”

“I think….” His fingers drum the beaten earth floor, twist in the threads of the blanket. “I think I would like to be called Caleb, from now on.”

The silence stretches, and his parents look to each other, and then Papa is hugging him tight and Mama is kissing his forehead. “Of course, mein stern,” says Mama. “If it would make you happy.”

 

* * *

 

 

His name is one he chose himself. His name is his identity, and he cannot bring himself to abandon it, even for the sake of a lie.

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb is fourteen, and he does not use his surname.

Widogast is the Zemnian family with the dirt-floor home and the threadbare clothes. Widogast is the peasant boy with no future and no way up. Caleb is not that—Caleb is a star, bright and shining, fire burning at his core and sending him forwards. Caleb will be great. Caleb will be glorious.

He misses them, and he is ashamed of them. Fourteen is a confusing time for anyone, but for Caleb more than most.

But he knows this: he loves the Empire. He loves his power. He loves the soft, fine fabric of his uniform, how crisp he looks in the mirror. He loves his teachers. He loves the attention. _Mein stern,_ indeed.

“There goes young Caleb, off to do great things,” say the teachers.

“Wow, Caleb, that was incredible!” say his peers.

Caleb basks in it. It is glorious.

He does not use his name.

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb is seventeen and he is a monster.

And he breaks, but not before his last thought— _I do not deserve this name._

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb is twenty-eight, standing in a field of wildflowers beneath the summer sun. He bends low and plucks a flower, turns it in his fingers and stares at it.

His mother would have liked this one. She always did have a fondness for the color yellow.

“Mutter,” he says. “Vater. I will not forget you.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What is your name?” asks the little green goblin with the candle-bright eyes. Caleb tucks his knees up against his chest and presses his back to the cold cell wall and does not hesitate.

“My name is Caleb Widogast,” he says.

 

* * *

 

 

Maybe he doesn’t deserve it. But it is his responsibility to carry this load.

 

* * *

 

 

_Caleb, why don’t you lie? Aren’t you worried you’ll be recognized?_

Yes, but a name is a history, and an identity, and a burden he must bear. His name is one he chose, one he was given, and together it is something so powerful that it feels despicable to toss it aside.

So they are liars, shamelessly and unforgivably. But he will never lie about this.

 _My name is Caleb,_ he insists. _Caleb Widogast._

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks google translate for the german
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://thepensword.tumblr.com)/  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thepensw0rd)


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